


served up as dinner

by troubleseeker



Series: kinktober 2018 [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Auctions, Begging, Bondage, Bottom Sam, Cock Cages, Denial, Drugs, Fear, Incubi Cas, Incubi Dean, Kinktober 2018, M/M, Master Castiel, Master Dean, Master/Slave, Monster Castiel, Monster Dean Winchester, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Sam gets drugged, Sam thinks he's going to die, Sex Slave Sam Winchester, Sharing, Showers, Slave Trade, Slavery, Spitroasting, Succubi & Incubi, Top Castiel, Top Dean, drugged food, packaged, sex as food, slave handler Bobby, slave handler Charlie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 21:14:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16227461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubleseeker/pseuds/troubleseeker
Summary: kinktober day 7 - Praise-kink | Body Swap |Aphrodisiacs| IncestSam gets bought at a slave auction on the cheap. At first, he's glad to be bought at all, but then he learns that his new owners are incubi - creatures who live off of sexual energy - and believes he is going to be eaten. He's terrified, and scared, and has a panic attack only to be calmed down with a hefty dose of incubus aphrodisiacs before being led to his owners' bedchamber.Sam and Dean are not related here. Sam is a normal human, if a scared one.





	served up as dinner

**Author's Note:**

> Good God, this one just refused to let me wrap it up ... sorry it's late (also I pray not all of the others are this long, for I shall perish)

“Please.” Sam begged the second the travel hood came off. “Please, I can serve in so many ways. Please.”

Blinking in the bright light, and very much blinded by it, he looked around at the other slaves as they stripped the travel gear off of him. His heart sank as they ignored him with trained professionalism.

“Just. Just let me come. Please. I won’t tell. Please.”

Hope crested when they unlocked the cock cage he’d been wearing for three weeks, only to join his heart somewhere at the bottom of his stomach when they neglected it afterwards. With his hands still very much secured behind his back, there was no way he was getting the chance to jerk off on his own.

“Please. I’m begging. Please.”

“He’ll need to be washed.”

Sam gasped as his head was tugged back. The hand in his hair was plenty of encouragement to arch back swiftly to avoid neck pain or a backhand. He recognised the man studying his face as the one who’d picked him up from auction. A handler, but not the buyer.

“Maybe a bit of makeup. Don’t overdo it.”

“Please.” Way less loud now. Handlers had authority. And while many handlers could be cruel, some could sometimes be swayed. 

“Make sure you condition his hair, it looks damaged.” 

Sam flinched. The handler didn’t look like he was about to hit him, but it was enough of a dismissal. Broken. Damaged goods. Slap some makeup on him and hope he sufficed for one last evening. How much had he even cost? Shame curled around his heart and the tiny flicker of hope he’d foolishly harboured.

When the handler let him go, he looked at the floor; tried not to cry. 

“Sure thing, Bobby. Come on big fella. Up.”

With his legs unlocked from the sale crate, Sam stumbled to his feet. Two slaves held him steady. He could see their tattooed wrists, but more importantly the batons at their hip. He wouldn’t be escaping. No one here would jeopardize their own skin and status to save him. His eyes pricked again, and by the time they led him into the shower room tears had started falling. 

It would be his last shower. His last everything. And he’d have to undergo it. No way were they going to risk freeing his hands now. Even if they put the cage back on, desperation was a powerful motivator.

Feet cold on the tiles, he stood where they put him. Head down and hoping the water would be warm. He knew better than to fan that tiny flame, but he’d beg for them to fuck his mouth if it meant his last cleaning didn’t freeze him to the bone.

One of the slaves locked the bar holding his wrists in place onto a short chain that was probably bolted into the wall, as the other walked away. No doubt to get a hose. Sam prayed it wasn’t a pressure cleaner. 

Just as he was about to open his mouth to beg for a chance to earn warmth - lips trembling, already anticipating the batons and an ice cold stream of water - a lukewarm spray drizzled over him from above. 

“Thank you.” He mumbled, closing his eyes to the droplets running across his face; obscuring the tears. They had no reason to be kind to him, and anything he did to anger them would mean he suffered. 

They let him stand under the spray for a bit to soak off the worst of the grime. Let him drift and cry in relative peace. 

How many slaves like him had they handled already? Broken beyond repair. Cheap. A walking, talking meal. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“And our last slave of the evening! Lot one-hundred and seventy-three. Male. Getting older, but probably still strong enough for menial tasks. He’s certainly big enough for them.”

Sam stepped up onto the platform and looked out into the near empty room from under his eyelashes. It had been a long day, huddled in one of the back corrals as lot after lot was led out into the auction room. Buyers had ambled around, but none of them stopped in front of his chain link pen. 

“Well trained. Never tried to escape.” Sam turned to show his back to the bidders when the auctioneer’s crop slapped at his thigh. He was marked, but nothing like a runner would be. “As you can see, he’s muscular enough.” 

Sam turned again when prompted, trying to flex without it being too obvious. There were barely any bidders out there, and he did not want to spend another night in that pen. Cold, hungry, losing value every day he got dirtier. 

“He’s been locked in chastity for twenty-one days now.” Sam flinched as the crop slid under his caged cock and lifted it. “No venereal diseases. Willing to please. Blood type AB.”

It was hard to breathe for a few seconds. The thought of becoming a vampire’s blood-bag slicing through him. He’d seen a pair once. Sitting dead eyed at their owner’s feet while she discussed something with the other dinner guests. Sam had never before been so eager to serve his own master that night. Their pale skin and tastefully covered necks had haunted him for days.

“Let's start the bidding.”

He’d tuned out then. Breathing a sigh of relief when two bidders started raising their little placards. He’d be bought at least.

“Sold!”

One more master. Sam stepped carefully off the platform, walking meekly next to the assistant as he led him straight to the crates.

“One-hundred and seventy-three, please.”

The man who inspected him before the lid went on bore handler’s tattoos. Poking and prodding at him a bit as he inspected the paperwork. 

“And you’re sure he’s been secured in chastity for three weeks?”

Someone clicked at a computer as leather straps bound him to the bottom of the crate. Sam licked at his lips, eyes already on the gag and hood. If the handler was interested in his cock it meant he’d be used for sex … probably. So he’d not been downgraded to a farmhand yet. 

“Yeah. Last owner cages all his slaves and has a medic oversee it all.”

Sam hadn’t minded too much. Stress and the bare minimum of food pretty much killed his sex drive anyway.

“So he milked them? Boy. Boy!”

Sam jolted, the assistant’s crop striking his shoulder with more sound than sensation; setting his nerves on end in anticipation of worse pain.

“Yes, sir?” He made sure to keep his eyes focussed somewhere on the older man’s chest. Paying attention without breaking protocol. The auction slaves clicked his wrist cuffs to a bar behind his back and pulled him back till they could slide the centre pole into place. The ring at the back of his plain collar locked to in with a loud click; a padlock. There was no way in hell he was getting out of the box without help. 

“Were you milked in the last three weeks?”

“No, sir.” 

They were all milked once a month as basic maintenance when the cages were replaced. Some slaves got lucky and managed to find release while they got fucked. But Sam had mainly been a mouth, and a larger target to hit.

“Why do you need him pent up? Master throwing a big party?”

Sam accepted the swig of water gratefully, knowing he’d be hooded and in the dark during transport; no matter how long that was.

“Naah. They’re incubi.”

Fear rocketed through Sam’s bound form. Nowhere to go. No possible way to escape. And only one way out … straight into an incubus’s belly.

The hood pulled down, slotting the gag into his mouth perfectly, and plunged him into darkness. The crate lid was nailed down, but Sam didn’t hear the dull thuds over the beating of his own heart.

He was going to die.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey, big guy?”

Sam nodded, sniffing against the water that felt more cool than warm as his skin got used to it. 

“Just gonna give you a wash, ok?”

“Ok.”

The slaves were careful as they washed him. Keeping their distance as they ran a sudsy cloth across his skin. The soap smelled earthy yet clean. Not sickly sweet, not floral. Sam would probably describe it as pleasant if he wasn’t getting prepped to be eaten.

He tried to make himself seem harmless, because he was. He’d never, ever attacked anyone. And the thought that he was being treated as if he’d kill to escape ... it hurt. With the other men moving around him, Sam felt himself grow colder. 

He couldn’t hold back the sob when he started shivering. The slaves pretty much jumped away from him, hands heading towards their batons, and now he’d be bruised as well as cold. It wasn’t fair. He’d been cooperating. 

He’d been  _ cooperating _ . 

“Please.” He had to gasp for air, tears and water blinding him and he couldn’t brace for the hits if he didn’t know where they were coming from. “Please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

They had every advantage. Claustrophobia setting in even though he knew he was in a big room. He was caught. The cuffs around his wrists grew tighter. He tried to step back, feet slipping and God he didn’t want to fall. With his arms behind his back as they were, he’d dislocate a shoulder at best.

He hit the wall, trying to curl into himself as he continued to apologise. He couldn’t breathe, but he  _ had _ to keep apologizing. 

The water shut off, and he knew he’d lost the privilege of a shower. They’d get the hose now. Freezing water that would blast his skin white.

“Please. Oh God, please.”

The wall was cold. He was cold. Shivering in fear as his skin chilled, and the ring set into the wall dug into his spine. There was noise all around him, but he couldn’t focus. 

They were going to beat him. They were going to beat him and then serve him up as dinner. 

Hair stuck to his face, blinding him further, and he cried out in pure fear as one of the batons pushed hard against his chest. 

“Stay!”

The command cut through his panic, and he nodded. Still begging. His head felt light, like he’d fly off somewhere else if his heart went any faster. Stay. Don’t move. Stay. Don’t move. Don’t move.  _ Don’t move _ .

Hands wriggled in between his back and the wall, and he couldn’t help but whimper. He didn’t move, though. He did  _ not  _ move. 

“Ok. Now down.”

Chains rattled, and he sank down against the wall. An easy target for kicks, but he wouldn’t die with ruined shoulders. The baton pulled back, and he tried to hide his face against the wall. It would come back with a vengeance, they always did. 

“‘M sorry. Please’msorry.”

He was hyperventilating. Pulling in air way too quickly, but he couldn’t seem to stop. It would cost him dearly, but he  _ couldn’t stop _ . 

They let him cower for a while. Let him beg and grovel while he tried his best to merge with the wall. His lips were tingling by the time someone new marched into the room, speaking loudly enough that it reached him through the high pitched ringing in his ears.

“What is going on here?”

Sam choked on his words when a hand pushed the hair out of his face, letting him see the world more clearly again. Bright red hair, and handler tattoos all he focused on before curling into a kneeling position; face to the floor and still hyperventilating.

He'd messed up bad enough that a handler had caught wind of it. As if his day couldn't get any worse.

“Please. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so, sorry.”

He forced the words out in between heavy panting. 

“No, no.” It wasn't enough. It was never enough. Handlers were never pleased. She grabbed at his shoulders, pulling him up. “Come on, up.”

Sam knew what it meant. It meant  _ show me your face _ . Handlers were trained in the art of pain. Already on death row, he'd be a good example to the rest. 

“Deep breath through your nose, now.”

That was new. Sam wasn't sure how breathing would hurt him now. Not without broken ribs or a smashed nose. But he obeyed, getting a noseful of heavy musk. 

“And again. Breathe.”

The second breath came easier. The third easier still. It was on his fifth breath that he calmed down enough to realise the handler was holding a mysterious little bottle under his nose. If he’d been calm enough to see it coming, the sight of it alone would have made his mind bubble with hysteria. But he hadn’t seen it coming, and whatever it was it'd parked his brain right in the middle of relaxed, and it wasn't moving.

“There we go. Feel better now?”

“Yes, ma'am.” he wasn't panicking anymore, but he hadn't lost his senses. Handlers were handlers, no matter what.

“Had a bit of a panic?”

Sam made sure his eyes were on the floor, where he knew his head should be. She sounded nice. Maybe she wouldn’t break all his fingers. 

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

Panic spiked underneath the bottle’s musky smell when her hand felt up his thigh and into the curve of his groin, but it didn’t get far enough to grow anew; suppressed by the smell. Sam’s eyes flicked up, and paled at the anger he saw on her face. 

He was still stuck, and now partially drugged … he flinched when she moved; sudden and fast.

“Warm water! He’s absolutely freezing.”

The other slaves all started talking at once, and Sam tried to wrap his brain around what was happening. The red haired handler was barking out instructions, but none seemed to be aimed towards him.

Hands grabbed at him, and he went limp; surrendering. The bar was gone from between his hands, and there was a second where he realised that now was his one and only chance to jerk off and maybe ruin his appeal as a meal. 

But the handler was still in the room, and he wasn’t hard anyway. 

Someone tugged at his cuffs, urging him to bring his hands forward. He watched rope link the cuffs together, raised his head to give them space to tie the rope off to his collar. It took the chance away. No need to worry about what he could or couldn't do. His dick might as well have been in another room, it was out of reach.

The shower turned on again, and it was blessedly warm. The temperature was raised even higher when they started washing him again. Dark smelling soup rubbing at him and rinsing away the filth that had accumulated over three days in a pen. And no matter what was happening later, it was good to be clean.

Cleaner still when they got to his hair. They let him tip his head up, didn’t get any stinging shampoo get in his eyes. Rubbed conditioner in that smelled like the soap and cleaned the nails on his hands  _ and _ feet while it set. 

All in all, it would have been a very relaxing bath if he hadn’t known where he was headed. Better than getting beaten bloody and thrown to the wolves, Sam tried to remind himself. Everyone died at one point, and slaves never lived very long.

They were careful as they cleaned his cock. Gentle and impersonal.

Incubi fed on sexual energy, so he might get to come one last time. It had to be a better end than slowly being drained by a vampire. Had to be better than collapsing on a factory line. 

He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to think at all.

The conditioner was rinsed out with fingers carding through his hair. Sam could feel it was softer. 

It was harder to get back to his feet this time. With the adrenaline now gone the lack of rest, the bare minimum of feed, and the stress were getting to him, and the fact that he was nice and warm now made him crave sleep. 

“Come on, big guy. Up.”

They hauled at him, and he stood. Blinking lazily at the tile floor, and wondering how new the towels were. Rags weren’t usually this soft.

“How long ago did you eat?”

Sam recognised the handler’s voice, and tried to remember. The auction house had given him enough slave’s feed to make sure he didn’t die, but they weren’t going to spend money on him. 

“The morning I was sold, ma’am.”

She poked at his stomach, pinching the skin at his side and murmured unhappily. Sam’s jaw trembled. He knew he was on the skinny side, but that’s what his last owner had liked. What did it matter now anyway?

“And what did they feed you? One of those horrendous shakes?” 

She sounded so disapproving, Sam flushed in shame. He didn’t get to choose his feed. Didn’t get to choose anything. He’d still get judged though, it seemed.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She huffed, and Sam didn’t know how he’d be punished for having been fed the wrong thing.

“Bring him to the kitchen after you’re done here.”

And she was gone. Leaving him at the mercy of the other slaves again.

She must run a tight ship, giving that no one so much as groped him. And really, he was the best target. None of them were in chastity, and who would believe the new slave who’d be gone by tomorrow? 

“You gonna freak out on us again?”

Sam shook his head, curling his arms against his chest and walking when they told him to. He was cleaner than he’d been in a good long while, and really it got harder to think of silver linings even with the haze hanging around his mind.

Normally, he’d be trying to figure out the layout of this new household. Owners didn’t care how recently you’d been bought, if you were late for anything you got punished for it. But now … Sam forced the thought away. He was just walking. He was just, just walking.

“Just wait here, ok”?”

The condescending pat on the arm told Sam just how badly he’d broken down. Everyone else knew what he was here for, what would happen to him, and how badly he was coping. The expected him to just freak out again. Probably worried how badly their own day would get messed up by the broken slave crying on the floor. 

Scraping together the last of his dignity, Sam knelt on the pillow the other slave pointed at, and nodded. It wasn’t the worst place to wait.

It made the ever present hunger in his belly growl and claw, but it was warm and it smelled nice. Keeping his head low, he could watch people bustle about, and it reminded him of his childhood. 

No one seemed to be paying much attention to him, and that was just fine. People watching while he tried his very, very best not to think about anything. Some semblance of peace, before … No! He wouldn’t think about it. 

If he thought about it, he’d end up crying again. 

So he watched the cooks. Most bore slave marks, but none looked beaten or starved. Probably one of the perks of working in the kitchens. 

“Here. Eat.”

Sam jolted back into reality. The red haired handler was back, and he’d been blatantly watching other people instead of straining his neck to look at the floor. But before he could try to apologise, try to beg for mercy, she plopped an honest to God plate of food down in front of him. A small part of the wall could apparently be tugged down to form a tiny table. Just big enough for a plate. High enough for him to reach with his hands still tied to his collar. 

But … there was no way in hell that food was meant for  _ him _ . For one, it wasn’t blended into a sludge he could drink in seconds. And two, it wasn’t ancient leftovers that could have gone into the trash just as well. 

“Did they get water in your ears? I said eat. You’re way too skinny.”

It had to be a trap, but a command was a command. Sam reached for the nearest bit of food. It was green, and had a funny shape. Expecting pain any second now, he popped it into his mouth and started chewing. It tasted really, really nice.

“Wow. They really did a number on you.”

Sam stopped mid chew, fighting the urge to look the handler in the face. No good would come from it, but it would probably be easier to gage her intentions. After a few beats of silence, he started eating again.

“You have no idea what you’re eating, do you?”

Ah. She was shaming him. Playing with her master’s food before they did. Sam swallowed.

“No, ma’am.”

“Well. That was broccoli. Did you_ uh_ like it?”

It dawned on him that this was his last meal. Sam reached for a bright orange bit, pretty sure that it was a carrot.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She didn’t stop him eating the thing that might or might not be a carrot. It had been a long time since he’d helped fetch things as a kid. 

It was also good. 

Still on edge, Sam yanked his hands back to his chest when the handler moved towards his plate. She didn’t take it, just set down a plastic cup.

“Don’t overdo it. Eat what you can, leave what you don’t like. But drink all of that.”

There were a lot of things Sam would eagerly do if it meant he got to eat a full plate of  _ real _ food. He reached for the cup.

“Yes, ma’am.”

It was a strange tasting juice. But then again. How much juice had he been allowed to drink in his life? 

Halfway through the meal, with three-quarters of the juice gone, Sam realised what was happening. He was getting light headed, warmth curling from his stomach through the rest of his body. Drugs.

Still, he picked through the rest of the plate. It was delicious, and it had so many textures and colours. 

“You all done, big guy?”

Sam blinked lazily at the slave over the top of the plate as he licked at it. He peered down at the clean china surface and then at the empty cup, and nodded. It was hard to give the plate up, even after he’d just checked it for  _ any _ leftover bits.

“Just give it to me. Come on.”

The hazy feel good energy wavered, and Sam thrust the plate forward fast enough that he pulled on his own neck. 

“I’m sorry. Please, I’m done.”

Somehow, the other slave didn’t hit him. Just took away the plate and the cup, folding the little table down again, while another stepped in to lead him away from the kitchen. The hallways looked pretty nice. Wood or tile flooring in what were obviously slave areas. Most households just kept it all concrete. Wood was nicer to walk on.

When the wallpaper got nicer, and paintings and vases appeared every so often, Sam knew he was being led into the part of the house his new owners lived. Fancy. Warm. Carpets in the hallways. Whatever they’d given him, it was making him way warmer, sweat pricking at his skin as his heart sped up.

“Just in here.”

Sam’s feet seemed to be moving faster than his mind was. One blink and he was at the centre of a large, and decadently decorated bedroom. And before he could think of what he’d be doing here, he was on his knees. The floor soft and cushioned as he tried to make sense of this new development. The new sensation of carpet on skin made his whole leg tingle. Pleasant and distracting.

“Arms up.”

He shook his head, certain he was missing something. The rope fell away, and hands tugged on the cuffs; guiding them up. He couldn’t move his hands down again, tugging sluggishly at the resistance.

A hand slipped in front of his mouth, cutting off his air, and Sam’s heart jumped at the skin on skin contact.

“Deep breath.”

Without any other option to breathe, Sam took another deep whiff from a small bottle. It went straight to his head. Numbing his thoughts, and relaxing his entire body till he was just hanging from his wrists. He shuddered, aching for contact the second the slave moved his hand away.

“All right. Last touches.”

Sam blinked heavily. It was hard to keep his eyes open, but the slave just held his eyelids steady for him. The barely there contact  was better than nothing. Working fast, the slave lined both eyes with a pencil and applied a light coat of mascara. The brush whisking in and out of view.

“And done. Have fun.”

The slave patted his head, and the dull thud was probably a door closing. 

Sam hung from the chain. Suddenly hyper aware of his skin, and slipping in and out of full consciousness as he tried to remember how to breathe. There was something else, tickling at the back of his mind. Something important. Something vital. 

But it was stuck behind a wall of scent, and the need to be touched. The room was nice, but he was so lonely. At least he had the thick scent they’d been plying him with since he ‘d first panicked. A scent that seemed to be infused into everything. The whole room pulsing as his heart slowed and sped up again. 

Sam licked at his lips, man it was warm in here. How anyone could sleep comfortably with that many blankets and pillows in this kind of heat was beyond him. He breathed deep, trying to cool himself down that way. Only. The smell seemed to be getting stronger. More overpowering. Fresh.

“Oh wow. He’s gorgeous.”

Green eyes peered down at him, and when Sam blinked the face had morphed into one with a deep blue stare. 

“He is beautiful, yes. And he smells  _ devine _ .”

There was no time to think. The blue eyed man was on him. Fingers possessive as they held his face in position, and the sudden onslaught of connection had him react with equal hunger.

“Bobby said he’s been marinating for three weeks.”

Sam mewled when the man pulled away. The lack of contact burning through him. He needed the other, needed them both. A hand in his hair smoothed the very edges of his newly awakened hunger. Eyes barely open, he looked for the men he was serving. 

“You can tell.” His hands fell down, and someone turned him around as if he weighed nothing at all. “Taste him, my love.”

A second pair of lips pressed onto his own, and a tongue demanded entry. Sam was happy to comply. The idea of letting these men have him, all of him, was the best idea he’d ever had. They were unlike any master he’d ever had, the tongue invading his mouth went deeper. Longer, more agile. Reaching spots he’d never thought possible. Scratching the itch he’d never known he’d had.

Hands smoothed down his back, fanning the flames of desire even as they soothed him. Nails tracing patterns without scratching. He gasped for air when the man pulled back. Sam tried to follow. He was far too empty.

“Fuck, he’s so eager, Cas.”

The other man pulled his hips up, knees no longer touching the floor. New instincts made him spread his legs as much as he could. The man holding him up groaned.

“He’s perfect.”

Unable to balance properly with the way they were holding him, Sam was forced to put his head down on the ground, toes kicking into the air as a second tongue dove deep into his ass.

“He nice and relaxed, Cas?” The head lodged between his cheeks nodded, and Sam mewled as the very tip of the tongue found his prostate. “You having a good time? Babe? Darling?”

Cas ignored the other one, hell bent on driving Sam mad instead. He didn’t know how long the tongue was, but it was inside of him, and that was … perfect. He pawed at the carpet, trying his utmost best to keep his ass angled right. 

Despair bloomed bright and terrible when Cas pulled back.

“Please. Please. Please.”

Other words were useless. All he could do as beg. He  _ needed _ to beg. If they stopped now, he’d die.

“Shh. We’ll take care of you, pet.” He was lowered down, a hand under his chin giving him permission to look up. The horns really didn’t bother him. Too busy being relieved to care what his masters looked like.

“Dean? Dean I want him. Want him now.”

Dean nodded, and Sam was ecstatic to learn that Cas’s need was as insistent as his own. 

“Get him on the bed then. I’m not fucking someone on the floor again. My kn_”

Sam squawked. Suddenly airborne as Cas tossed him onto the bed. Hands and knees seemed the most obvious position, so he scrambled up into it. Ass arched up in the most obvious plea he could manage.

“Your knees still hurt from last time, yeah. I’ve heard.”

Sam knew he was erect, and by the Gods he wanted to reach down and jerk off but training and manners had him reach back and spread his cheeks instead. 

“Oh God.” Cas choked out, clambering onto the bed and grinding his cock into the slick channel between his cheeks. “Dean. He’s so good.”

The praise short circuited something in Sam’s brain. He’d died and gone to heaven. The thought tried valiantly to rise above the storm of arousal, but it capsized and disappeared under desire.

“Then fuck him. Come on, Cas. Stick your dik in his hungry hole. Cause it’s hungry, isn’t it boy?”

The other one, Dean, Dean got on the bed in front of him. Let him grab hold of hi thighs and nuzzle underneath his cock. Heavy and hard, and God it smelled like the bottle only a thousand times better. 

“Yes! Yes, sir. Master. Yes. Please, it’s hungry. Please fuck me. Please. I_” Sam paused, tongue preoccupied with licking and sucking at Dean’s balls. “I’ll be good.”

Cas pulled back, sticking the entire length of his wriggling tongue back into Sam’s ass instead. 

“You’re already being good, pet. So good.” Dean tugged at his hair. “Think your mouth is ready for something bigger?”

Sam’s eyes rolled back. Gods yes. Using his purchase on Dean’s thighs to push himself up, he get his lips around the other man’s penis. Longer again than anything he’d surviced before, but certainly the most delicious he’d ever had. 

He couldn’t help but suck deeply, trying to get more of the sweet tasting liquid that had beaded at the tip. 

“Dean. Dean, he’s so wet.”

Brave enough to look at his owner’s eyes, Sam could see pupils dilate as he shoved forward. 

“You’ve got your tongue in his ass, babe. What did you think was going to happen?”

Sam cried out in surprise as Cas’s hand grabbed his dick. Every ounce of his being suddenly aware of just how hard he was, and how he needed to come very very soon. 

“No, Dean. His dick. He’s leaking.”

Sam choked on the cock in his throat. Cas had abandoned his dick - sad, but he’d been a sex slave for long enough to know that  _ he _ wasn’t the one who got to come - and Dean was licking the precome off of his palm. Long tongue curling around Cas’s fingers, and it was fucking  _ blue _ . 

_ Incubus _ . His mind supplied, but Sam refused to do anything with the information. Instead, he focussed on getting more of Dean’s dick inside of his mouth. It was  _ imperative _ that he swallow it all down. It was the only thing that would fill him up. The only, only thing.

“Fuck him, Cas. Gods be damned I’m hungry.”

_ Yes _ !

“Yes.”

Cas slammed home in one go, and Sam was remotely glad that the second man - incubus - had stretched him out on his tongue. Deep and overwhelmingly good, the sudden barrage of fucking had him hang loose and limp between his masters. 

Someone found his dick at some point, encouraging him to buck wildly between the dicks and the hand in search of release. 

“Come for us, pet. Give us your pleasure.”

Stuffed full at both ends, and as needy as he’d ever been in his whole life, Sam obeyed with relish. Painting the covers white with three whole weeks of release.

All the energy drained out of him in bursts, but he could feel both his masters coming too. Dean so far down his throat that he never even tasted a drop of the man’s semen, and Cas grinding deep into his ass. They were filling him up, even as he ran empty. 

God he felt sleepy.

Dean pulled back first, sweet slick dribbling onto his tongue on his way out. Sam barely had the wherewithal to close his mouth and swallow instead of drooling onto the comforter. Cas stayed where he was, collapsing onto his side and dragging Sam down with him.

There was no way he had the energy to say no to the cuddles, even if he wanted to. Sam blinked, staring near-unseeing into the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. Dean grinned, and teeth were not meant to be that perfect.

“We’re keeping him.” Cas mumbled into his shoulder blades. 

“Of course we are.”

Sam twitched, too tired to comprehend it ll entirely, but he knew this as good. He never ever wanted to leave this bed again.

"I'm so full." Cas added, still coming; gently filling Sam further as his dick twitched and moved. Sam groaned weakly, and Dean stroked his face in reply.

“Sleep, pet.”

Darkness reached for him with eager claws, and Sam slept.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to come yell at me on [tumblr](http://ryugarika-blog.tumblr.com/) ... feel free to, I can take it.
> 
> Check back tomorrow, for ... Prostitution!! (Forecast dark as fuck)


End file.
